Sometimes You Gotta Pop Out

A Review of Kendrick Lamar's Epic Victory Lap

Hello friends!

You haven’t heard from me in a long time. I’ve been out here. Macking, hanging. Life is living. My apartment flooded and I’m living in a hotel, so that’s a thing. My book, Baby Mama’s Day, is nearly done and due to my editor in a few weeks. I’m working on a special project that I’m very excited to share with you later this year. #MiniMilah graduated from 5th grade. Things are pretty good.

I was assigned to write a (very personal) review of Kendrick Lamar’s “Ken and Friends” show last night in Inglewood. Unfortunately, the editor wasn’t pleased with the piece, and even after a round of edits, I wasn’t able to get it where he wanted. This is only the second time this has happened to me in my career, and the last time, the editor ghosted me completely. I’m not mad at all. I got to see one of the best concerts of my life, and it was free.99. The guy standing next to me paid $500 for his ticket. Plus, I get a kill fee. Basically, I won.

Anyway, here is the original version of my piece. It’s only edited by me, so be gentle. Hope you enjoy and I promise to publish more here. Plus, I have two other stories coming out in the next few weeks, including one analyizing the Kendrick v Drake beef from a feminist perspective, and I’ll be sure to post links to those as well.

Wop, wop, wop, wop, wop.

-Jamilah

I responded to the email asking me to take on this assignment within three minutes of receiving it. I’d been dying to come see “Ken and Friends,” but not enough to pay upwards of $350 for nosebleed tickets. (There were 30,000 people ahead of me in the Ticketmaster queue when I attempted to purchase one at regular price before the resellers were able to scoop them up and take advantage of this critical moment in history.) I was happily planning on streaming the show on Amazon, but being there made my year. 

To contextualize my enthusiasm, I am a big fan of Kendrick Lamar but an even bigger hater of Drake. He had me for a minute—I even thought he was cute for a hot second (vomit)---but in recent years, it seems as though he went from making songs for girls to playing to an audience of incel fan boys. He’s dissed the likes of Serena Williams, Rihanna and Megan thee Stallion; what Black feminist worth her salt could still support him after that? If I’m being honest, his brand of “sensitive” always centered his own feelings while trafficking in the same misogyny as most rappers; he just hid his hatred under his wobbly R&B vocals. He’s had questionable connections with underaged girls, including his texting pal Millie Bobby Brown. Plus the fact that he’s attempted to position himself as a gangsta tough guy when we all know he’s a Jewish child star from Canada is just unintentionally hilarious in ways no one seemed to have the courage to point out…until Kendrick. 

Baby, let me tell you something. This beef ignited something in me that I haven’t felt from Hip-Hop since I was a little girl reading The Source. Each drop by Kendrick seemed to stop time in its tracks. I felt seen, I felt heard. I, too, hate the way that Drake walks, the way that he talks, the way that he dresses—and I especially hate his braids. Thus, watching K.Dot take his victory lap in L.A., mere miles from his native Compton, would be an excellent way to spend Juneteenth, a holiday about which I oscillate between enthusiasm and ambivalence. 

Admittedly, I was a little nervous about the “And friends” part of the bill. I’ve never been the biggest West Coast Hip-Hop fan. There are a handful of artists who, like Kendrick, I love. But the icons? Dr. Dre, Snoop, Ice Cube, Too Short—I don’t rock with them. They were always the most openly misogynistic of all the Rap guys, and I didn’t enjoy their music as much as I did their East Coast counterparts. Living in L.A. has been challenging for me for a number of reasons, and the music has been one of them. 

The show was scheduled to start at 4pm PST, earlier than any concert I’ve ever attended, which would be 7 pm EST. The perfect time of day for people across the country to tune in and join me in my hatred of Drake. I parked my car at 3:45, nervous I would be a few minutes late. Parking was $80! I reflected on the times when I wouldn’t have been able to pay that.  As I walked to the Forum, a man drove by and asked if I wanted to take a shot. I am no longer at the stage of my life in which I would take free liquor from a stranger, but I did purchase a shot from one of the many vendors assembled in the parking lot. I also bought a pre-roll because I had somehow forgotten to pack weed. 

With the significance of the day in mind, I couldn’t help but notice that the vast majority of the crowd, um, well…wouldn’t qualify for reparations. Like most events in LA, it was quite diverse and the Black folks were vastly outnumbered. I couldn’t help but to wonder if this was the audience Kendrick had in mind when he chose to put on this particular event, in Inglewood of all places. If he doesn’t like hearing Drake, a biracial man, saying “nigga,” how would he feel about these folks letting it fly? And would they really have the audacity to say it in public in a crowd that was peppered with actual niggas?

I grabbed an expensive Don Julio and pineapple and made my way to the floor, unable to decide if I was excited about being so close to the stage or disappointed that I didn’t have an actual chair to sit in. I don’t know why I was worried about being late; I don’t think I’ve been to a concert that started on time. At about 4:35, DJ Hed took the stage and announced, “This shit is finna get real West Coast.” I said a prayer. Please, don’t let Dre and Snoop be the “Friends.” 

I do not go to concerts to discover new music, I go to hear music I already like. So, the first hour was somewhat challenging for me. About 14 local acts I’d never heard of performed. That is a lot of time to spend unaware of what was happening. Still, I immediately peeped what Kendrick was doing: he used the moment in the sun he’d gotten from the Drake battle to give California talent a moment to shine, further solidifying his “man of the people” reputation. 

I can talk about young woman rappers all day, but the last new male rapper I embraced was Kendrick himself about twelve years ago. I can’t say most of the dudes made a significant impression on me, but I was excited by a group of 5 girls called Cuzzos, which included an emcee who looked to be about 6 months pregnant. Some of the other artists included Remble, Ray Vaughn, Rucci and AZ Chike, Walle the Sensei, and Westside Boogie. I might not have been running to Spotify to find their music, but I enjoyed watching them shine in front of an enthusiastic hometown audience. 

Slightly bored, I started talking to a cute guy standing behind me who promised to let me borrow a lighter when I was ready to smoke; I only had one joint so I was saving it for later in the show. Around 5pm, Tommy the Clown and the T-Squad came out; since 1992, Tommy has been reaching young people through “clowning” dance, which is closely related to crumping. The dancers included little kids, which always hits me straight in the heart. 

DJ Hed departed the stage, and a commercial for Dr. Dre and Snoop’s new pre-mixed Gin and Juice drink aired. I really don’t like those guys. DJ Mustard, the hitmaking LA producer behind “Not Like Us” came out at 5:25. Someone named 310 Babii performed a song I vaguely recognized before Mustard traveled through his own catalog, including Tyga’s “Rack City,” 2 Chainz’s “I’m Different” and Big Sean’s “IDFWU.” Blxst was next, and then Ty Dolla Sign. I have categorized him as a lunatic because he still collaborates with Kanye West, so I used this moment to text the guy I like. 

Next up was Dom Kennedy, with his fine ass. (Dom Kennedy, if you read this, I would like to do bad things to you.) An LA dude, he’s no less sexist than the rest of them, but he's fine; being a Black woman feminist Hip-Hop fan means embracing a certain level of hypocrisy. Then came Steve Lacy, an R&B singer that my 11-year-old daughter loves. Following him, to my excitement, was Tyler the Creator. This made me stop and reflect; look at all these folks united by their love of the West Coast and their hatred of Drake. Stepping on that stage was the equivalent of saying, “Fuck you, Drake,” and I was heartened by every artist bold enough to take that stance. 

There was a touching Nipsey Hustle tribune followed by Roddy Rich, who had an expensive-looking teddy bear attached to his jeans. I realized that my edible had not kicked in yet. Roddy Rich does that sing-rap thing I don’t like. He must be pretty big because most of the audience knew his songs. At this point, the audience was full, and I could see that we Blacks were far outnumbered. It wasn’t giving Juneteenth. 

YG came out. He is very famous, but I don’t know his music well. But I DO know that on “Family Matters,” Drake tried to imply he was a real street dude and Kendrick was a fake one, which is hilarious considering that Drake is soft as baby thighs. I also know he is fine. To add insult to injury, he performed “Who Do You Love,” a song that features Drake. MWAHAHAHA.

It’s 6:11 when YG and DJ Mustard depart the stage. My feet hurt. I was wearing Converses. We were told the show ended at 7, so I wondered how long Kendrick’s set would be. The Gin and Juice commercial plays three more times. We wait.  At 6:31, the lights go back down. The impatient crowd chants, “OV-hoe,” the iconic taunt from “Not Like Us.” I am strengthened by our collective dislike for Drake. 

To my surprise and delight, Kendrick opens with “Euphoria,” his first full-length Drake diss record. I worried that he might not be petty enough to perform it. There are pyrotechnics. The entire crowd is rapping word for word. It was trippy hearing that audience say, “We don’t wanna hear you say nigga no more,” even though I didn’t catch any of the non-Blacks saying nigga, it was WAY too loud for it just to be us actual niggas. 

As K.Dot performs some of his biggest hits, the crowd is great, but I can’t help but wish it was Blacker. I’m from Chicago; integration is complicated for me. He then addresses the importance of this moment for West Coast unity and the significance of bringing together cats from different sets. I realize that this is much more important than being able to attract an all-Black audience. What Kendrick did with putting this show together would have a material impact on actual Black artists and people from his beloved state of California who were watching, even if only on a live stream. 

Next, fellow Black Hippy members J Rock, Ab Soul, and Schoolboy Q join Kendrick for some of their collaborations. Schoolboy Q is fine as hell; I am stuck on this for a few minutes. It’s 7:12, and I’m wondering how long the show will go on; it’s not that I do not love it, but I have plans afterward, and this article is due at 9 am EST (what did Kendrick say about people not liking the West Coast?) When “King Kunta” drops, I wonder if Kendrick is fine too; he looks nice in his little glasses, but he’s married, and I don’t register married men as sexual beings. I’m glad I don’t know if Q is married because I am ogling him. (Q, I would also like to do bad things to you.) 

At 7:23, Kendrick says, “It’s only right we start from day one.” Oh no, here come the old niggas. Sure enough, Dr. Dre’s woman-beating ass pops out. I stop to confirm my evening plans. As much as I don’t like Dre, I appreciate the significance of him being here and Kendrick getting love from a legend; I just wish we had a better legend. 

Finally, the moment we all waited for: “Not Like Us.” When Kendrick gets to “A minorrrrrrr,” he holds the note for 30 seconds. And then he starts the song for a second time. The crowd is beyond hype, rapping every word. He runs it back for a third time and is joined by two female dancers—both visibly Black, which is too often not the norm in Hip-Hop. I learned later that one of them is Storm DeBarge (IDK if she’s related to the DeBarges, but that would bring joy to my soul), who had a viral “Not Like Us” dance video. 

DJ Mustard returns, and the audience chants, “One more time.” Russell Westbrook and some other (fine) NBA dude come out. The Black Hippy guys and some other “friends” from earlier do too. I’m like, “Do rappers not have any homegirls? Why aren’t any women on stage?” until the Cuzzos come join them, as do Tommy the Clown, the dancers, and a whole bunch more niggas. 

Kendrick acknowledged the various gang factions being on stage in peace: “I ain’t never seen this,” he remarks, promising more moments like this in the future.

He has everyone spread out so they can be seen. Now this feels like a Juneteenth thing. They take group pictures. “This ain’t got nothing to do with no back and forth records,” he says…before performing “Not Like Us” for a 5th time. All is well with my Drake-hating soul. 

By 7:58, the party is done. People chant “OV-hoe” as they go to the parking lot. I am stricken by how historic this show was, both for my adopted home and for haters everywhere. “Not Like Us” is inevitably becoming Hip-Hop's most important diss record ever. I may not be a West Coast girlie, but I couldn’t help to be moved by the unity the show represents and how Kendrick made sure his people were represented on a big stage with him. I want to hate someone so much I unify an entire city to laugh in his face. The undoing of Drake has happened, and I was blessed to be a witness. 

Despite my complicated feelings about the make-up of the crowd, Kendrick made sure this day was about the artists who took that stage, particularly those who aren’t household names. What better way to celebrate Juneteenth than by giving back to the folks who’ve given so much to him? I’ve been listening to Hip-Hop for most of my 39 years, and I’m still learning how to share it with people who don’t look like me. The scales will never be balanced when it comes to who can afford expensive concert tickets (and who owns and operates most record labels). But Kendrick manages to stand out as a man for the people, for all the people. Still, I don’t want to hear them other cats say “nigga” no more.